


from curtain up to closing scene

by vindicatedtruth (behindtintedglass)



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 08:36:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6147862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/behindtintedglass/pseuds/vindicatedtruth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>five things you know — and the one thing you don't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	from curtain up to closing scene

 

* * *

**first:**

_he touches you and you light on fire._  
_your wrist blazes where his fingers meet your skin._  
_the burns don’t show, but it’s hard to breathe with ash in your lungs._  
_it’s so hard to breathe._  
_you’re suffocating daily._

* * *

 

 

He clasps those long, elegant fingers around your wrist, and you shiver.

“Are you okay, Cook?” he asks softly, looking up at you with that doleful gaze; and it should be illegal to have eyelashes that long, eyes that mesmerising, lips so succulent they’re so damn _kissable_.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath.  “I’m fine, Arch,” you manage to say, and you congratulate yourself silently at how calm you manage to sound.

Until you feel his hand slip downward, and he threads his fingers through yours.  

There’s suddenly not enough air in the room.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs as his thumb idly rubs the back of your hand; his skin feels so _soft._   “You’re not going to be eliminated tonight.  You’re safe.”

You look at him, at the gap between his shirt baring the delectable skin of his throat, and you think in despair:

_But you’re not.  You’re not safe with me._

He leans his head against your shoulder comfortably, and you pray he doesn’t feel you shudder.

_And I don’t know how much longer I can protect you from myself._

 

 

 

* * *

**second:**

_it hurts to watch him._  
_he shines._  
_he’s brighter than the sun, he’s too beautiful for your eyes._  
_it’s hard to look at him._  
_it’s even harder to look away from him._  
_you’re going blind._

* * *

 

He sings about a love that won’t save either of you, and silently you agree; you’ve already fallen far from salvation anyway.

You can’t stop looking at him even as you sing together, can’t stop reaching for him, being drawn to his side.

You don’t know much about the Bible, but somehow you remember Lucifer — the angel of light that has fallen from grace.

You look at him and wonder: does heaven close its doors to angels that shine too brightly, so that their light shines on the darkness of humanity instead?

You think about the times when you fall weak in the dark, and you give in to your all-too-human need in the hushed confines of your bedroom; when it’s thoughts of _him_ that flood your fantasies and fires your blood with desperate desire, and you frantically bring yourself to the brink as you bite into the pillows to silence your screams, only to leave you shaking with how it’s not enough, how it will _never_ be enough, because you will always keep wanting _him,_ and your own rough touch can never be a substitute.

(You wonder how he is as a lover—if he’s gentle and pliant or if he needfully clings—and you hatefully feel yourself throbbing again.)

He sings about how everyone’s watching, and you realise he doesn’t know.

He’s the only one you see.

 

 

 

* * *

**third:**

_your ears are tuned to his voice._  
_you could pick him out in a sea of thousands._  
_his voice makes pretty singers who sing pretty songs sound dull._  
_his voice makes everything else sound ugly._

* * *

 

 

Forty thousand people singing along, and it’s still his voice that soars above them all.

The grief hits you all of a sudden, and you fall to your knees.

_Are you listening to this, Adam?_

Tears spring to your eyes even as your heart swells with overwhelming gratitude and pride.

_Do you hear how they’re all singing for you?_

On the other end of the stage, he continues to sing, and he surprises you when he does his own runs, rising above the melody even as the notes weave themselves seamlessly through your song.

It threads straight through your heart, and suddenly you can’t bear it.

You love him so much it _hurts_.

 _Please_ , you pray silently to a God you somehow still believe in, _I have never questioned anything that’s happened, or everything I lost.  But I beg you, please…_

You squeeze your eyes shut and clutch at your chest.

_Please don’t take him away from me._

Above, the sky is pitch black, starless and silent; before you, Manila shines like a supernova, the chorus of their voices pouring forth seemingly from heaven itself—

And beside you, your guardian angel, who has never let you fall.

 

 

* * *

**fourth:**

_the color of his eyes is blue enough to drown in._  
_he is turning you into a clichéd love-wrecked being._  
_you’re drowning, always sinking._  
_down, down, down._

* * *

 

The hustle of the airport fades into the background as you stare at him.

“What?” you ask, hardly daring yourself to hope, hardly daring yourself to _breathe._

Something in his gaze breaks, and you feel your heart following.

“Wait for me,” he whispers again — and you haven’t even realised you’ve already moved until you’re crushing him into your arms.  His bags fall into a heap around his feet as he lets them go to clutch at your shirt with shaking hands.

(He’s so scared.  He’s so terribly, _terribly_ scared.)

“Shhh,” you find yourself murmuring as you rub your hands soothingly up and down his back; he shudders his watery exhale against your chest.  “It’ll be okay, Arch.  What are you so afraid of?”

His answer is muffled, but you hear it anyway, and it makes you freeze.

“ _What_?”

He pulls back to look at you.  His eyes are a blend of rainclouds and the sea, brimming with unshed tears.

You find yourself willingly drowning in them.

“I’m afraid you’ll forget about me,” he repeats softly.

It’s the most honest, most vulnerable he has ever been with you — and it sends you reeling.

You bark out a laugh to cover the unexpected sob that bursts out of your throat.  You pull him back in to mumble against his hair: “You’re an idiot.”

 _I miss you already,_ is what you really mean.

Your two years in purgatory has already begun.

 

 

* * *

**fifth:**  

 _you know him._  
_you love him._  
_through a thousand lifetimes, across millions of stars, you’d find him, you’d never leave him._  
_you love him, till death do you part._

* * *

 

It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him like this, and the heaviness that has always blanketed your heart is suddenly lifted; gone is the haunted, sunken look the last few months of chemotherapy had once etched upon that handsome face.

The way he looks now is the way you’ve always chosen to remember him: as your very first hero.

“Adam,” you breathe, and the crow’s feet that crinkle his eyes when he smiles in that achingly familiar way makes you suddenly want to cry.

“Hey Davey,” he answers softly — and you become the kid brother all over again as he wraps his arms around you and you finally let yourself break.

“I missed you,” you whisper, your shoulders shaking.  “ _I missed you._ ”

“I know,” he murmurs, his voice a steady anchor, the way it has always been, before.  “…I know.”

You’re not sure how long the two of you held each other; for all you know, an eternity may have already passed, as time is irrelevant here.  Finally, as the last of your tears slowly subside, he steps back.

For a while, he simply stands there as he looks at you thoughtfully; you resist the urge to fidget under that assessing gaze.

“You grew up more good-looking than I expected,” he muses suddenly, and it surprises a laugh out of you.  

“It’s in the genes.”  You grin at him.  “You should’ve known that already.”

He smiles back; his gaze suddenly softens.

“Dave,” he says gently.  “I did hear.  All forty thousand of them.”

Your throat tightens with emotion; you find yourself unable to speak.

“But if you stay here…”  His eyes turn a little sad.   “He will never sing again.”

Your hands curl into fists at your sides.  “Adam…”

He sees the conflict in your gaze — and understands. 

“Let it be the last song you’ll ever sing for me, Dave.”

He steps forward and puts a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“From now on… let all your songs be for _him_.”

 

 

* * *

**_(sixth:  he loves you, too.)_ **

* * *

****

… He looks _terrible_.

Both of his hands are wrapped around yours that isn’t bound in a sling.  His gaze hasn’t left your face since you awoke from your coma, as if he’s somehow frightened that you’ll disappear if he so much as blinks.

The nurses have all commented on how he has kept vigil night after night, barely eating or sleeping, refusing to leave your side.  

You may have been the one to survive the car accident… but he looks like the one who crashed.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispers — and you never, _ever_ want to hear him sound that broken again.

“Please believe…”  You rasp amidst the multitude of tubes attached to your body; it hurts to breathe, but not as much as it hurts to see him _fall apart._

“Please believe… I’ll never go.  I’ll never leave.”

The tears he has been holding back all this time finally fall from his eyes… but he’s smiling.

You turn your hand to cup his cheek, brushing the dampness away with your fingers… and he finally closes his eyes to rest in them.

 _Till the clocks run out,_ you vow. _Till the sun breaks down._

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [ this.](http://bedlamsbard.tumblr.com/post/99199496248/first-he-touches-you-and-you-light-on-fire-your)


End file.
